


little panda paws

by thefudge



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Darker Vanya, F/M, Fucked-up, I have too many tags, Licking, Pseudo-Incest, Vanya fucks with him, Vanya's in a rock band, and if you long to never die baby plug in upload your mind, oops i guess we appreciate power by grimes is also a bop here, ost: violet by hole and strict machine by goldfrapp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 12:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18343643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: This is what they call a Stockholm Syndrome. Eudora is waiting for him at home, but he’s here, in this dirty mosh pit, trying to catch a glimpse of her. Just to look at her and confirm she still exists. His fucking nightmare.





	little panda paws

**Author's Note:**

> i know it was @Detroitbydark who talked to me about an AU where dark!seductive!Vanya toys with Diego from the beginning and keeps him guessing because #holyshityes. So this is that?  
> Anyway, i am all up in this dynamic and i hope yall are too

_I told you from the start just how this would end_   
_When I get what I want, then I never want it again_   
_Go on take everything, take everything, I want you to_   
_Go on take everything, take everything I want you to_

hole - violet 

***

 

 

This goddamn heat is too much. It’s like a noise, it pounds, it makes his skull ring. He can’t even hear the music.

He breathes in other people’s sweat, the ungodly, sour stench of youth. He’s not that old himself but he feels like a geyser next to these twenty year-olds who’ve never seen the light of day by the looks of them.

He has to make room for himself, has to find a hidden corner. Despite his efforts to outshine Number One, Diego has never _really_ liked the spotlight.

It’s a pointless exercise. He’s washed along with the crowd, carried closer to the stage than he’d like.

At least he doesn’t stick out too much, dressed in black.

But he sticks out in other ways.

He hopes his sister won’t see him. 

He's probably safe. She's got her eyes closed. 

She’s the one in the frayed cargo pants and red tank top. She’s barefoot. Her loose hair sticks to her skin. Bits of mascara run down her cheeks, little panda paws. He doesn’t know why she always summons this soft, gentle imagery. She’s anything but.

She's always Vanya, always herself, never compromising, never letting other people’s feelings get in the way.

He may hate her fucking guts, but he can appreciate an honest woman.

From the outside, you wouldn't get it. She's a pale, skinny goblin. No tits, no ass, nothing you can grab onto, nothing you can wank to, really. 

But if you don't look away fast enough, you realize you're already wanking. 

The rest of the band try to keep up with her and her spontaneous solos but it’s clear she’s playing to the sound of her own music.

The crowd goes wild when she interrupts the beat and stomps on the chords, claws at the strings until the guitar seems to cry for help, sending blasts of real agony into the audience.

Diego’s teeth chatter.

There was always something about her music, even growing up, that made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He doesn’t know if he’s the only one who feels it, but the sounds coming from her have real weight, real goddamn flesh and blood. Like getting motion sickness and being in the eye of the tornado at the same time.

Often he thought, _this has to be her power._ He almost wanted it to be.

Because the alternative was that Vanya was just your average human monster. Nothing special about her except she was a huge cunt.

If only she could’ve joined them, she might’ve turned out all right.

But she didn’t.

Hell, the old man had to throw her out of the Academy at age seventeen because she was torturing all of them, one by one.

Well, it’s not like she didn’t have a favorite target.

He closes his eyes.

This is what they call a Stockholm Syndrome. Eudora is waiting for him at home, but he’s here, in this dirty mosh pit, trying to catch a glimpse of her. Just to look at her and confirm she still exists. His fucking nightmare.

Vanya writhes to the cacophony of her music, moves in a mind-numbing way, like a robot made of organic parts.

She lowers herself, knees sliding on the floor as she holds the guitar between her thighs like an object of feral pleasure.

She tips her head back, hair whipping static in the air. The ridges of her neck are so sharp and well-defined that his hand twitches, almost reaching for a knife. Crystalline sweat pools between her collarbones. 

He swallows.

The way she used to taunt him.

 _Come on, cut me, come on, cut me, cut me, cut me, cut me in your favorite place._ She’d sing it loud, she’d sing it soft, running in circles around him, her maypole.

_Where do you wanna cut me?_

_Right there_ , he thinks. _Right there._

He has to get out of here. This isn’t good for him.

He’s seen her. He’s had enough.

He turns away, dredges a path through the throbbing elbows and knees. He’d like to wet his knuckles on them, but this heat - he can’t even think anymore.

Freedom is close. He can almost taste the crisp night air. If only he could get past the last wave of thrashing bodies…

He hears a commotion behind him.

Then a soft, poison-tipped voice, speaking into the mike.

“Hey. Don’t let the guy in black leather get away. He’s my brother.”

She doesn’t have to scream it. Doesn’t have to make a fuss. It’s little Vanya asking him sweetly to draw a line of chalk where her head stops. She wants to know if she grew taller overnight.

She strums her guitar and the sound sinks into every person in the crowd. Like some kind of virus. Suddenly, he’s caged in, grimy faces pushing up against him. Eager fingers snatch him by the shoulders, drag him back into their midst. Diego tries to punch his way out, but they’re too many, too hungry. It’s beehive mentality and it’s relentless.

“Bring him over here, guys,” Vanya purrs into the mike, husky and guileless. “I wanna say hi.”

The kids grab his arms and legs. He’s in free fall.

Dread coils in his stomach. Dread and a sick stab of euphoria.

He surfs over the crowd, each pair of hands carrying him like holy relics.

Diego remembers lying down like this on that rooftop, breathless from chasing after her. He thought she was gonna throw herself off the building. He’d seen her standing on the edge. But little Vanya was waiting for him.

She loomed over him, long dark hair falling in her face, lower lip between her teeth.

“The robbers are getting away. Daddy’s gonna be so disappointed.”

Diego remembers the sun in his eyes and feeling like crying.

“I -I t-thought you were g-gonna…”

Vanya leaned close until her face was right next to his.

“No. I just wanted to make you fail.”

He remembers feeling stupefied. Not even able to get angry.

“W-why?”

She frowned. “I think you need it. It builds character.”

And she brushed her lips against his cheek, licking off the wet trail of tears.

The same face - older, less sweet, just as deceptively fragile - looms over him now.

He’s seeing her upside down. He’s seeing a demon doll.

The crowd has brought him to the stage’s lip.

Vanya leans down, her features enlarged and distorted.

She grabs the sides of his face. She brushes her thumb against the shaved side of his head.

“Nice haircut,” she mouths and Diego feels breathless.

She holds his head still.

She parts her lips and her tongue baptizes him from hairline to chin.

She licks him like a deer, like Bambi's mother - Grace used to put the tape for them on Sunday afternoons and Vanya used to laugh when the mother died because their own mothers probably got shot in the middle of a dark forest too, _haha_ \- dragging her tongue roughly over the one vein throbbing in his forehead, over the dark, vulnerable eyebrows and the white scar where nothing grows, the slant of his nose, the stubble on his Cupid's bow, the full lips and beard.    

Quick and long and only once.

He's coated in her.

Diego shudders. He buries a moan in his throat.

Vanya lifts her head.

She pats his cheek. “You should call next time.”

Then she’s stepping back on the stage, taking her shadow with her.

“All right, folks. Get him out of here,” she requests softly into the mike.

And before Diego can reach out to her, he’s being pulled back by a myriad of thirsty hands. Dragged away from her.

He twists his head, to catch one last look.

Vanya has her fingers on the strings, doing something shameless.

She’s laughing at the heavens, mouth open, shark teeth gleaming.

She’s lost in the music again.

 _She doesn’t need powers_ , he thinks as he’s kicked out of the warehouse.

He lands in the middle of the street, aching.

Her saliva is drying on his eyelids.

He doesn’t wipe it away.

  


 

Later he’ll fist his hand in Eudora’s hair and fuck her from behind so that she doesn’t see the hurt and the hunger in his face. She likes it a little rough, she likes that he’s got an arsenal of knives and leather.

But when they lie next to each other, sated and breathless, he thinks how ridiculous he is, how tame, how _incomparable_ to his sister.

He wonders if he got it from her, this taste for stylized violence. Wonders if he’s not original, but only a copy she designed.

He thinks _Vanya would fuck me from behind._

He puts his hand over his mouth. 

He's still coated in her.   



End file.
